Fiction The Elephant by Aravind Adiga

ll the employees of the furniture shop had gathered in a semicircle around Mr. Ganesh Pai’s table. It was a special day: Mrs. Engineer had come to the shop in person.

She had seen her TV table, and now she was approaching Mr. Pai’s desk to finalize the deal.

His face was smeared with sandalwood, and he wore a loose-fitting silk shirt through which a dark triangle of chest hair stuck out. On the wall behind his chair he had hung gold foil images of Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, and the fat elephant god, Ganapati. An incense stick smoked below the images.

Mrs. Engineer sat down slowly at the desk. Mr. Pai reached into his drawer, then held out four red cards to her. Mrs. Engineer paused, bit her lip, and snatched at one of the cards.

“A set of stainless-steel glasses!” Mr. Pai said, showing her the bonus card she had picked. “A truly wonderful gift, Madam. Something you’ll treasure for years and years.”

Mrs. Engineer beamed. She counted off four hundred-rupee notes, which she put down on the desk before Mr. Pai.

Mr. Pai, moistening the tip of his finger in a small bowl filled with water which he kept on his desk just for this purpose, counted the notes afresh. Then he looked at Mrs. Engineer and smiled, as if expecting something more.

“The rest after delivery,” she said, getting up from her chair. “And don’t forget to send the bonus gift.”

“She may be the wife of the richest man in town, but she’s still a stingy old cunt,” Mr. Pai said, after seeing her out of the store, and an assistant laughed behind him. He turned and glared at the assistant, a small, dark Tamilian boy.

“Get one of the coolies to deliver it, fast,” Mr. Pai said.

The Tamilian boy ran out of the shop. The cycle-cart pullers were in their usual position—lying on their carts, staring into space, smoking beedis. Some of them were gazing with dull avarice at the store on the other side of the road, the Ideal Traders Ice Cream Parlor, where fat kids in T-shirts were licking vanilla cones.

The boy stuck out his index finger and motioned to one of the men.

“Chenayya—your number is up!”